


Amor Vincit Omnia

by Sol_Invictus



Category: I Medici | Medici: Masters of Florence (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Fluff, M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-14 02:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18043523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sol_Invictus/pseuds/Sol_Invictus
Summary: Love conquers everything; even death.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skywalkersamidala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywalkersamidala/gifts).



> This fic was written in the spur of the moment thanks to the tags of tumblr user jammeke on this [gifset.](https://swanlaurences.tumblr.com/post/183252180036/jammeke-markantonys-2x03-2x04-requested-by)

“What do you mean it’s over?”

“You understood me perfectly.  _ It’s over.” _

Lorenzo opened his mouth but no sound came out. It was a rare occurrence, but one Francesco couldn’t savor. Not now.

“You can’t,” feebly answered the young man.

“Be sensible, Lorenzo. We can never truly love each other. Not like this. I’m tired of being another one of your secret conquests when you’re bored of your wife.”

“Francesco, you’re being unfair.”

“I’m being  _ realistic.” _

Lorenzo slumped down on the bed, the weight of exhaustion crushing him. Francesco dressed without looking at him. The young man watched him helplessly, grief gripping him. He wanted to scream, to hold his lover back and tell him he loved him like he never loved anyone else ever since they met in their childhood. Instead tears rolled down, blurring his vision as Francesco walked out.

* * *

 

When Francesco met Lorenzo again, more than two weeks after that fateful early evening, they were in a voting session at the Priory.  The stab in the heart was expected, yes, but not with that violence. Lorenzo looked  _ empty. _ He had lost weight. His eyes were glassy, unfocused. He had dark circles, as if he hadn’t slept since their encounter and he was too pale for Francesco’s taste.  He looked sick. Francesco wasn’t even sure his ex-lover had actually registered his presence. When the voting arrived, Giuliano elbowed his brother to signal him he had to raise his hand.

As they walked back home, Jacopo exulted with triumph.

“So the rumors are true! Young Medici is ill!”

“Ill?”

“He’s gone mad two weeks ago. People are saying he can’t even speak anymore.”

Francesco couldn’t hear any of his uncle’s words anymore. He started to shake, air leaving his lungs as if he had a noose around the neck. As if to confirm his feeling of foreboding, a flock of crows assailed the Duomo’s statue of San Lorenzo.

That very same evening, the Medici servant he paid to spy on came to him looking panicked. Palazzo Medici was in an uproar. Lorenzo was found bleeding in his room four hours ago. His mother had the best doctor of the city, who had studied in the East, come examine him. There were talks that the young man would not survive the night.

Against his best judgement, Francesco sneaked out that night to climb to Lorenzo’s window, as he had done so many times before in his teenage years. He slipped into the moonlit room. A still form was laying in bed. Gripped by an irrational fear, Francesco approached the young man. Relief flooded him when he saw his chest rise and fall. He was alive. He was still alive. Dark spots caught his eyes in the moonlight. Delicately lifting Lorenzo’s arm, he realized his wrist had been bandaged. The cloth showed great dark spots.

_ Blood. _

Francesco felt sick with the realization. It snapped against his throat like a noose. What had he done? His beautiful, golden Lorenzo was now a dying shadow with bloody wrists and it was all his fault. He had pushed the only man he had ever loved to death.

_ He almost killed Lorenzo. _

Francesco was weeping so much he didn’t notice at first his ex-lover was stirring. It was only when he heard a feeble “’Cesco?” that his heart jumped in his throat.

“Lorenzo! Oh, Lorenzo!”

The storm of emotions he felt inside had him crush his lips against the young man’s. His hands went to cup his face, where they rightly belonged. It was only when Francesco leaned back that he realized how cold Lorenzo’s skin was. Dread crept back in his belly.

“….thought you….sorry…shouldn’t…”

“Shhh, my love. It’s alright. I’m here, I won’t leave. Shhhhh.”

Francesco laid down beside him, soothing him softly as he caressed his cold cheeks. Lorenzo quickly drifted back to sleep, but he seemed to harbor a more serene expression. Francesco softly hummed the lullaby Lorenzo had taught him when they were children and for a few hours, everything was right again.

* * *

 

(When Lorenzo opened his eyes again, woken up by the doctor, his ring finger was sporting Francesco’s favorite ring, the one that had belonged to his father. The physician had Madonna Lucrezia come over, alarmed by his patient bursting into tears for seemingly no reason.)

(Four weeks later, Lorenzo made his return at the Priory. Francesco let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he saw the young man bring his very own ring to his lips in a furtive kiss.)

(Yes, eventually everything would be right again.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place more or less a year and a half/two years after the first chapter. Maybe more. Who knows with me. The nicknames were a brilliant idea of tumblr user ueberdemnebelmeer.

Officially speaking, the studiolo was rented by one Ovido Latino, an artist commissioned to paint a mythological subject for the Medici family. Lorenzo had been very proud of his little charade. Francesco had found this ridiculous and quite dangerous in fact: anyone who vaguely knew the idiot was aware of his admiration for Ovid and his works. Yet Lorenzo would not budge: he would have his private joke or they would take the risk of meeting each other in public places. His lover had relented (as always) with a good deal of grumbling.

The studiolo had been the shelter of their countless nights together, even of their first moment alone after…. _ that night _ . Francesco had never been able to completely forgive himself for the pain he had inflicted upon Lorenzo. He had been blinded by his pride and his uncle’s revenge. His lover had almost eternally damned his soul in the process. The scars maring his wrists were testimony to that dark chapter of their relationship. Lorenzo, for his part, had moved on rather easily in light of the ordeal he had been through. It was something that amazed his lover. His perfect body, worthy of any statue laying in the ruins of the Roman suburbs, was irremediably scarred. Scarred for life. Scarred as a reminder of Francesco’s folly.

“What are you thinking about?”

Francesco snapped out of his thoughts. Lorenzo snuggled closer in his arms, pressing a kiss against the side of his throat.

“Nothing,” he answered with a sigh.

“You’re still torturing yourself over that night.”

It wasn’t a question: Lorenzo knew all too well his lover had not forgiven himself about  _ that night _ as they both called it.

“You needn’t be,” he went on with a grin. “I’m here, you’re here. What is there to torture yourself with?”

Francesco grunted in vague agreement, not wishing to speak about the matter any further. His lover raised his hand over his head, admiring the ring that had been Antonio de’ Pazzi’s in a distant past. Francesco couldn’t help the smile tugging his lips. His lover knew the value the ring held for him, and he cherished it like his most precious belonging. Only his grandmother’s crucifix, the one she had bequeathed him, rivaled the sentimental value of the object.

“You must miss your ring,” said Lorenzo with a gleam in the eye he knew all too well.

Before he could answer, the young man rolled on his side to rummage his clothes. He produced a ring and held it proudly to Francesco.

“For you.”

“Lorenzo!” he let out indignantly when he observed the object closer. “Lapis-lazuli?! You’re mad!”

“Nope,” his lover grinned with that beautiful, smug grin of his. “Just in love with you.”

“I can’t possibly accept that. You must have ruined yourself!”

Lorenzo slipped into his arms once more, humming softly with content.

“I’m serious, Enzo. I’m not accepting it.”

“Oh, stop playing coy! I know you love it.”

“A ring like that would attract comments.”

Lorenzo busied himself by kissing his throat, his hands becoming more caressing on Francesco’s skin.

“My uncle would be suspicious.”

Hands stroke their way down to his thighs.

“Guglielmo would question me right away…”

Lips sucked on the spot under his ear. Francesco swallowed back a whimper. It was a losing battle and he knew it but he decently couldn’t let Lorenzo have the last word in this matter.

“What of your wife?”

“Clarice wouldn’t have helped me choose the ring if she didn’t approve of our love.”

“You  _ what?!” _

Lorenzo sighed with irritation, as if revealing his wife knew about their affair was a small detail.

“Since when does she know? Why did you tell her?!”

“I didn’t tell her anything, she worked it out by herself after...that night. She asked about the ring. I felt she deserved the truth.”

“And you didn’t think about informing me of that development?”

“What for?”

Francesco growled in exasperation. He got out of bed despite his lover’s attempts to hold him back.

“Checco! Please, don’t be like that!”

The furious glare Lorenzo was sent made him flinch. He cursed himself silently. He just had to be his usual foolish self and upset his lover just when he’d offer him his present! He watched Francesco pace angrily. He fidgeted with the covers, unsure how to make himself forgiven. Suddenly he was hit with the unpleasant memory of his lover telling him it was over.

“Francesco… Francesco, I’m sorry. I...I didn’t mean to upset you. I should have told you. I just… I’m an idiot.”

Francesco stopped in his tracks. His lover’s worried gaze brought back an unpleasant memory. He strode back to him and cupped his face with a small smile.

“You’re right. You’re a fucking idiot.”

Lorenzo chuckled with relief. He kissed a hand fervently and pulled his lover down with him in bed. The man let himself fall into his arms.

“I still maintain this ring is a bad idea, though.”

“Just see it as a way to show off the power of your family then! You’re so rich you can afford lapis-lazuli.”

“But  _ you _ can’t.”

Lorenzo huffed in dismissal.

“Enzo,” warned Francesco with his I’m-not-joking tone.

His lover pouted in childish frustration.

“Well… Perhaps I can’t.”

Francesco raised an eyebrow. The young man bit his lip to stop himself from grinning as he drew soft circles on his skin.

“Perhaps...that lapis-lazuli was a gift. A gift from a new friend...who happens to be from Naples.”

He broke into a wide smug grin at his lover’s exclamation.

“King Ferrante?! You must be joking!”

Lorenzo shrugged smugly, very pleased by his little revelation. Francesco sat up to observe the ring with joy and amazement.

“The Duke of Milan has informed me one of Ferrante’s son is seeking a loan to raise an army against his dear father and-”

“And you agreed not to grant him that loan and to prevent the other Florentine banks from doing so.”

Lorenzo made a gesture of approval. Francesco all but burst into laughter. He kissed his lover with joy before sliding the beautiful ring on his finger. It fitted perfectly. Slipping into his lover’s arms once again, he spoke with great excitement.

“If we manage to pull this off, we’d get Naples on our side! Then Montefeltro wouldn’t be a threat anymore and the Pope would have no choice but to follow.”

Suddenly he turned to the young man, eyes shining with happiness.

“You may actually have your peace in Italy, Enzo.”

The two men then laughed joyfully, their earlier argument already forgotten.

* * *

 

(A few days later at the voting session of the Priory, Francesco proudly showed off his new ring. Giuliano could not help a venomous comment on the man’s pride with a smirk. Lorenzo grinned despite himself, although for very different reasons.)

(Clarice grinned too during Mass when her eyes caught sight of the beautiful stone on the finger of Jacopo’s nephew, and privately congratulated herself for her good taste. Blue indeed looked good on Francesco Pazzi.)


End file.
